


Dawning

by vensre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Cuddling, M/M, Sex, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-25
Updated: 2009-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vensre/pseuds/vensre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kinkmeme prompt: <i>Arthur/Merlin - drawn to each other in their sleep. For some reason they have to share a bed. They start out on their own side but by morning they always end up in each other's arms.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/5454.html?thread=2266702#t2266702) at the Merlin Kink Meme. Also posted [at merlinxarthur](http://community.livejournal.com/merlinxarthur/1825991.html) on livejournal. Title inspired by lyrics from **Feelin' The Future** by The Republic Tigers.

He had _tried_ to observe propriety, at some point. Arthur might have known it wouldn't do much good with Merlin involved.

  


* * *

  


It first happened the very first time they slept side by side, in Merlin's mother's little house. Arthur had slept head-to-foot next to his knights many times, next to friends and soldiers, and there was no precedent — no reason for Arthur to expect that in the morning Merlin's arm would be curled beneath Arthur's knee, his cheek pillowed on Arthur's thigh, Arthur's arm lying snugly between Merlin's shins, and Merlin's toes tucked warmly under Arthur's shoulder. Waking so entwined was odd, but not uncomfortable in his dozy contentment. He carefully extricated himself, and was sitting up, studying Merlin's peaceful face in thin pre-dawn light when the dark blue eyes blinked slowly open, and Merlin smiled.

Arthur, sensing the torment he would be subjected to if Morgana had risen first and found them that way, was careful on the journey home not to lay his bedroll beside Merlin's, who was _awfully_ tactile and probably couldn't help himself.

  


* * *

  


The second time was in the aftermath of the Questing Beast, and it wasn't exactly Arthur's idea. Merlin showed up in Arthur's quarters late at night, freshly bathed but looking like hell. If he was honest with himself, Arthur hadn't been at all sure that he would see Merlin again, considering the strange things he'd said before he disappeared, some of which wouldn't have sounded out of place in a suicide note. He wasn't quite asleep when Merlin came in — without knocking or announcing himself, of course — and all but dragged himself to Arthur's bedside, eyes too dark in the low light, and just looked at Arthur, just stared.

More concerned than unsettled, Arthur looked back for a while, then sighed and edged himself over carefully, leaving the warm hollow of his habitual sleeping spot vacant. Merlin just stood there, making these tired pained breaths that somehow hurt to hear.

"Well?" Arthur prompted him, and then ended up having to lean back over to tug him into the bed anyway. "Come on, Merlin."

Merlin resisted lying down, and wobbled, landing propped on one elbow. "My boots," was his protest.

Arthur hesitated, but eventually found himself saying, "Do you need help?" It was still easier than asking what had happened or where it hurt.

"Got it," Merlin's voice came back softly. He apparently wrestled off anything he wasn't planning to bring in the bed with him, then crawled into Arthur's spot, settling into the depression he'd been working on since last time Merlin had flipped the mattress.

He laid one hand on the back of Merlin's neck uncertainly; Merlin did not shrug him away, so he left it there, his arm stretched across the space between them. Beneath his palm he could feel a deep tremor of exhaustion. He pushed his fingertips down against the tense muscles, wishing him relaxed.

"How did you even make it up the stairs like this?" Arthur chided quietly. Merlin hummed a non-answer and tucked his limbs in more closely to his body. He said nothing else. But Arthur kept listening, idly matching his breathing to Merlin's as it slowed, and was lulled by the quiet rhythm of another person to be still for.

When Arthur opened his eyes again, well past sunup, he recalled why he didn't do this sort of thing. Not that there was often call to share sleeping space with Merlin, but after the last time, waking this way — with his forehead butted up to the back of Merlin's head, the tip of Arthur's nose brushing his nape, and his lips touching the upper curve of Merlin's spine — was no shock, only a little _unusual_.

He would certainly never own up to drooling on his manservant; that got wiped off as soon as he could work his aching shoulder enough to reclaim his arm, which had wound itself about Merlin's waist during the night. One of Arthur's legs was tucked up parallel to one of Merlin's, their knees nested snugly, and he could feel the bottom of Merlin's foot resting against Arthur's other ankle. The more he considered their position, the more it became apparent that Merlin had barely moved overnight from the face-down curl he'd collapsed into, presenting him with the disturbing possibility that it was _Arthur_ who couldn't help himself. And perhaps he couldn't, in some ways, when it came to Merlin. Maybe a lot of ways.

Arthur felt no compunctions whatsoever about wandering down the hallway in his nightshirt, slippers, and sling to find someone to send for breakfast (enough for two).

  


* * *

  


The third time they were travelling again, and Merlin would have been on the floor if Arthur hadn't mused aloud that the inn's bed looked plenty big enough for two; it wasn't, really, but at least they had a room to themselves to discover that in. The fourth time Arthur had dragged Merlin along on his quarterly patrol of Camelot's borders, and after a chill and solitary watch during the wee hours it seemed like an excellent idea to crawl into Merlin's bedroll with him. Sometime around dawn, Merlin — who had draped himself across Arthur's chest sometime in the night — flailed in his sleep and elbowed Arthur right in the neck, so Arthur took prompt revenge in waking him by whipping off the blankets.

The fifth time they were home in Camelot, but it wasn't anything to do with crises or injuries. They didn't actually have much of a reason, which made that time the hardest of them all to rationalise in the morning when they woke to find that Arthur's hand was up Merlin's shirt. Then Merlin kept crinkling at him knowingly and being _very irritating_ about it, and Arthur might have got snappish and perhaps he shouted some but it worked out in the end, didn't it?

It wasn't Arthur's fault that he seemed to be braver asleep than awake. That shouldn't even be possible.

  


* * *

  


The sixth time they woke entwined was different, and far more understandable, as they had fallen asleep in each other's arms that night in the first place. Arthur might have guessed that would up the intensity, had he been thinking about much at all beyond the feeling of Merlin under his hands and mouth, Merlin moving with him, Merlin, _Merlin_.

Arthur came awake being jostled, to the sound of Merlin's low chuckle and his scent everywhere around, pressure of bare skin warm along Arthur's front. He was shoving his hips upward before a single thought had made its way through his mind, and Merlin pushed back, their legs every-other and Merlin's mouth on his throat, hot and wet and fiercely happy. He pulled at Merlin, squeezed tight until he felt a murmured protest, loosed his hold and wiggled down beneath him to lick at his chest as Merlin arched with his face against Arthur's hair and breathing deep and quick across his ear. Merlin slid down to straddle him, their mouths aligning as he set himself on a particularly satisfying angle and rubbed upwards. He let out a pleased breath when Arthur groaned, and did it again, and again, as Arthur stretched eagerly against him, a rush of heat driving off the last scraps of sleep.

Arthur clung hard and kissed Merlin voraciously, and when he came he rolled them onto their sides, only half-aware of the movement. Together they lay dazed and flushed and filthy, knees touching. Merlin lifted one hand, smoothing it up Arthur's arm and over his shoulder to his face, sliding the pad of his thumb across Arthur's raw bottom lip and tracing up along the faint creases that would be deep smile lines if he lived as long as his father. Arthur shut his eyes to let Merlin touch his eyelids with shaky fingertips. He opened them again when Merlin kissed him, and tugged playfully on Arthur's fringe with a thrilling energy in his eyes.

"Is it always going to be like this with you?" Arthur said, his voice stunned-soft and uneven.

Merlin grinned breathlessly. "Oh, I really hope so."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another story set in this world, some years later, may be found here: [Halves](http://archiveofourown.org/works/29864)


End file.
